


Into Eternity

by Paige_Larkin



Category: Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Character Bleed, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 13:25:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1306471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paige_Larkin/pseuds/Paige_Larkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for tothetwelve's fic contest on tumblr.  Filming Thor: The Dark World is going along according to plan until a sudden burst of character bleed from Chris brings a critical scene to a crashing halt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into Eternity

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very, very first Hiddlesworth fic and the first thing I've written in almost eight months, so please be gentle on me. Exact filming timelines and processes and settings may have been twisted to fit my needs. Rating is just to be on the safe side. I hope you enjoy it!

“I didn’t do it for him…”

 

It should have been an easy scene. Scenes with Tom always flowed naturally, their unmatched chemistry doing the hard parts for them. The ridiculous little sensors all over Tom’s face to add the CGI later should have kept him focused on the task at hand.

 

Loki’s line comes through the wind and Tom’s head tips back, eyes falling shut, body going still in Chris’ arms. Tom’s shockingly good at being dead. Some actors you can still see twitching, breathing, but not Tom. No. Tom goes still, limp, _heavy_ and if Chris didn’t know better, Tom had died in his embrace. It opens up a wave of agony in his chest so hot and sudden, he feels like he’s been shot.

 

He’s supposed to scream now, but his throat’s swollen shut, heavy tears crowding his lashes as the cold wind blasts over the landscape. He can feel himself shaking, hands clenching at Tom through the heavy leather of his costume.

 

Production only gives him so long before Alan yells “Cut!” and Tom snaps back to life fast enough to make Chris feel like he’s going to be sick.

 

“Chris?” Tom asks in a gentle voice but Chris still can’t get the lump out of his throat. Tom’s hand rises, settles carefully on his shoulder for a moment, gauging his reaction before hesitantly sliding up, cupping his cheek. Even in the subzero temperatures, Tom’s skin holds the tiniest hint of warmth, growing from the contact on Chris’s chilled jawline. “Are you alright?”

 

Chris tries to nod but can’t. The tears come before he can stop them, slipping down, scalding his wind-battered skin.

 

“Oh.” Tom makes a low noise and Chris is pulled tight to his chest.

 

*

 

There’s a break after that, mostly so Chris can try to catch his breath. Tom complains lightly about the cold, trying to smooth over the real need for the pause in shooting. Tom’s usually so well-behaved and polite, everyone nods, follows his little white lie. Everyone’s bundled in heavy blankets since coats don’t go on very well over Asgardian battle garb. Chris still feels cold, even with the full sleeve version of his outfit on now; he can’t seem to get warm. The cold is brutal, penetrating, painful.

 

Natalie wanders over, hot chocolate in hand, pats him on the shoulder, offers him her pretty, friendly smile.

 

“Are you gonna be okay?” Chris is finally able to manage the tiniest of smiles, his deep-seated instincts to nurture and protect getting him out of his shock enough to respond.

 

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” It comes out, short, clipped, and he hopes she doesn’t take it the wrong way. Her smile stays, even if it’s sadder and she reaches up, tucks wandering strands of his hair behind his ears before wandering away.

 

Tom’s wrapped in his own blankets and uses their bulk as cover for when he presses close to Chris’ side.

 

“Do you want to talk about what happened back there?” Chris can’t find an answer but he manages a small shrug. It’s enough for Tom to actually hug him again, pulling him close, dragging his blanket up and over Chris’s shoulders where his arms settle. He finally feels a little warmer, even if his heart still pounds away, harsh and uneven in his too tight chest.

 

*

 

They wrap early. They’re far enough of ahead of schedule that they can get away with ending early when their star isn’t feeling well.

 

Chris is overeager to get out of his costume and almost tears it off. It feels like it’s choking him.

 

Wardrobe keeps him from destroying his outfit and his makeup is wiped away easy enough with an efficient, gentle hand.

 

Chris waits around for Tom, who takes longer to get out of his over-complex costume and for the inky dye to be rinsed from his hair so it doesn’t stain the honey colored fluff that Chris pets when no one’s looking.

 

They share a shuttle with a couple of the extras and a lighting assistant back to town at the other side of the volcano’s base. It’s crowded enough that Chris can get away with pressing the side of his thigh to Tom’s and Tom can lay an easy arm across their seat back, fingers resting lightly on Chris’ shoulder. Chris can’t actually feel the weight of them but he knows they’re there, keeping him calm as they head back to their little house.

 

Their housemaster is out of town for a few days so it’s just the two of them, returning to the dark little home, chilled from being empty all day, but much better than outside.

 

Tom all but parks him at the counter, leaving him in his coat as he turns the heat up and sets about turning on lights and bustling about the kitchen. Tom puts the kettle on and starts dinner. The water boils and he fishes a couple of tea bags out of their boxes from the cabinet.

 

“That better not be Earl Grey.” Chris says before he can help himself and it’s so normal, it almost makes his head spin. Tom laughs though. He always laughs when Chris makes faces about his tea of choice.

 

“Earl Grey for me, something sweeter for you.” Tom drizzles honey in the bottom of one of the cups then adds water, the tea bag, stirs just a little. Milk follows the other tea bag into the cup that must be Tom’s before the Brit wanders over to the counter, pushing Chris’s cup close to him, hands cupping his own. There’s a saucer between them, to put their tea bags on when they’re done steeping.

 

Tom doesn’t say anything about what happened on set, just letting Chris calm down, settle into being home. It’s comforting, Tom’s presence, the familiarity in movements Chris knows as well as his own as Tom makes them dinner. Chicken parmesan and a salad. Chris’ plate of pasta is enormous and the salad just enough to get him his greens while Tom is the opposite, giant salad and a portion of pasta that one would be generous calling modest.

 

Chris’ tea was sweet and soft, no hint of caffeine or heavy flavor and Tom makes him another cup after dinner.

 

When Chris is finished and Tom’s put their dishes into soak, the Aussie begins his trek to the bedroom, glad when Tom follows immediately without question, clicking off the lights in the kitchen as he goes.

 

*

 

They take turns getting ready for bed, Chris going first using the toilet and brushing his teeth, running a cool rag over his face as Tom tugs the blankets from one bed to the other. Their room has two queen size beds but they mostly sleep together on the one farther from the window and closer to the bathroom, for warmth and fewer things to stub toes on if they need to pee in the night. They’ve been together long enough to sleep in separate beds when they need space to spread out and just rest, but tonight, Tom seems bound and determined to make them a giant nest of flannel and down and Chris is more than okay with the idea.

 

When Chris has finally stripped away his winter coat and squirmed his way out of his clothes and into a pair of worn pajama pants and an old t-shirt, Tom gently tucks him in, smoothing his hair and kissing his forehead.

 

“I’ll be right with you, okay?” Chris nods and Tom kisses his lips this time, brief, gentle, long enough to not leave Chris feeling desperate for more, but short enough to be able to step away.

 

Chris tries to begin the process of falling asleep but he can’t, staring out the window at the sunlight that’s just now fading, even though it’s obscenely late at night. He can hear Tom brushing his teeth, washing his face, humming quietly to himself as he pads around the bathroom, changes clothes, takes a piss and flushes when he’s done. The running of the water because Tom is the kind of person who feels need to wash his hands every single time he sets foot in a bathroom.

 

Tom emerges from the bathroom, turns the light off, finding his way to the bed on habit and feel and crawling into the sheets that Chris has already tossed around trying to find a comfortable position. It’s easier with Tom here though. Tom sleeps on his right side, Chris’ arm sliding beneath their pillow to cradle his head, Tom’s fingers joining him beneath the edge of the pillow to hold his hand. Chris’ belly and chest press to Tom’s back. Chris is longer in the torso, their bodies fitting perfectly spooned together, Chris’ thighs curving down behind Tom’s, pressed close. His free hand slides up under Tom’s shirt, across his belly before settling on his chest, so he can feel his heart, his breathing.

 

“What happened?” Tom asks into the quiet, his hand joining Chris’ on his chest. His hold is gentle to provide the warmth, the safety Chris desperately needs at the moment, but firm enough to let him know that neither Tom, nor his question, would be going anywhere anytime soon.

 

“I…” It all comes back to Chris and he swallows hard, stomach whirling, head throbbing. He feels nauseous and his chest gets tight. He hopes he doesn’t puke. They’re too tangled up for Chris to get away fast enough. His heart is racing and there’s an ache, somewhere deep, penetrating not just his body but straight down to his soul. It’s almost how he’d imagine he’d feel if Tom really did die in his arms. “It’s…it…sounds stupid.” Chris finishes lamely.

 

“Okay.” Tom says, light, easy, but there’s the gentle nudge to elaborate. “What happened?” He repeats when Chris is silent a beat too long.

 

“Seeing you…lying there…on the ground, in the cold…dead. It’s…is it character bleed? I felt Thor’s pain I guess.” Chris tries. To an actor of Tom’s caliber, that probably sounds only a little crazy.

 

“That…” Chris can tell from the tone, even in the dark and not looking at Tom’s face that an eyebrow had risen across a high forehead he loved to press kisses to. “That was a lot more than just character bleed. Especially if it shook you up so badly.” Chris manages a small nod and swallows.

 

“I know.” He says, quiet. Whatever happened today was way more than character bleed. “I’ve had a little bit of it before, where I feel too much like him, like Thor, but today…I felt like somebody had gutted me. Like my heart was gonna explode but at the same time it was like somebody was ripping me open.” Chris knows he’s rambling but Tom stays quiet and he pushes on. “I felt like I really was Thor, watching you, watching Loki, who I love, who means more to me than anyone else in the world, my other half, being torn away from me.”

 

Chris is crying, silent, fat, soaking tears into Tom’s soft curls. Tom’s hands are warm, their fingers laced tight, but Tom’s quiet. It’s his thinking quiet and Chris’ stomach twists, not sure what’s going to come out of Tom’s mouth.

 

“It sounds stupid, doesn’t it?” Chris tries when Tom still hasn’t spoken a breath later.

 

“No.” The reply is immediate, more forceful than Chris would have expected, but it sets something deep inside him at ease. “What I’m about to say is going to sound a thousand times dumber than anything you could ever say.” Chris hushes him out of habit, nuzzling his scalp, comforted by Tom’s unwavering faith in him. Tom doesn’t think he’s crazy and it helps his breathing begin to settle again.

 

“I’ve always thought,” Tom begins quietly. “That there was something more than us just being the right place at the right time to play these characters. And I’m not going into any grand ideas of reincarnation and how souls work or anything, but I’ve always had this little hint, like maybe there really was a Thor and a Loki.

 

“And the more I learned about them, the more I had these weird little…dreams. Maybe it was overexcitement of finally landing such a huge role that I was so enthusiastic about, but, I dreamed about them. About the real Thor and Loki, who loved each other so fiercely, with so many flaws, with so much heartache, but…” Tom takes a deep, almost gasping breath.

 

“You are Thor. I’ve said that in all those interviews, to everyone who asks because you are. You’re the same larger than life, gentle, powerful, beautiful, honorable golden puppy dog that visits my dreams.” Chris can’t hold in a tiny, wet laugh at the puppy dog comment and squeezes Tom tight to him, nuzzling at his hair and kissing the softness of his curls.

 

“And when I play Loki, when I step into his skin, I don’t feel me anymore. I’ve never gotten that into a character. I’ve always been somewhere in there, acting, but when I’m Loki, there’s this…I become him and all his darkness and honestly, it scares me shitless.” Tom sobs out a gasp and Chris can’t hold him any tighter without hurting him.

 

“It’s…ever since we’ve come here, to Iceland, I’ve felt it more and more. These were some of the lands that gave birth to their stories. Thor and Loki were born here. They walked these lands just as we do and maybe something terrible happened here to Thor. Maybe he lost Loki here, maybe you felt all that pain he had and it came up in you today. Maybe you have those ties to Thor like I do to Loki and that’s why it hurt so badly.” Tom finishes, sounding somewhere between relieved that he’s finally said everything, and scared like Chris will react badly to it.

 

Chris can’t come up with a proper verbal response. Words aren’t his forte, they’re Tom’s. Every time he’s ever heard Tom speak, it’s with beautiful expression and vocabulary and he sounds like a wild, grunting bush-child in comparison. Chris does know how to comfort though, how to show love through the most ridiculous little gestures and how much they all mean to Tom.

 

They shift around a little, strip away their clothes and drag the blankets over their heads to make a little cocoon of warmth. Tom rolls over in his arms, presses his face to his chest, takes a deep breath in. They both squirm close to each other, basking in the intimacy of skin on skin. It’s what Chris needs, what Tom needs, to be so close, so tightly wrapped in each other with nothing between them.

 

Their whispers of “I love you” are swallowed by the darkness as Tom falls asleep, Chris finally feeling himself starting to drift, lulled by Tom’s breathing and a sense of completion, coming from the same place too deep within him to describe. A sense of love, of peace, coming from that very same place that had filled him with such terrible heartache earlier.

 

 _Maybe Loki was onto something…_ crosses his mind before he finally succumbs to sleep.


End file.
